The Immortal
by fullofmercy
Summary: The possible begining of a series, or simply a one shot. On a rainy day a man watches a funeral procession.


Appropriately it was raining, which struck the black haired man as odd, because what was appropriate seldom happened. Some of the worst days of his life had involved sunny skies, and the best ones took place under the cover of darkening clouds. For this girl, however, it seemed even the heavens wept and the skies poured out their souls, drenching the funeral procession at the graveside. The man wearing the matted black hair, which was becoming ever more slick by the rain as the trees did nothing to protect him from it, was not apart of that, though he knew the deceased. Still, he did not even question that the entire water soaked assembly, save perhaps the priest, knew he was there. The only reason they didn't say anything was out of respect for the poor girl that was being put into ground.

She had been a good person. Cocky, and smart ass to boot, but then again, those were qualities he considered made a good person. A real lively girl, even in a profession as serious and dangerous as hers. Though that's not what got her killed. He was.

_It's not your fault they're putting her in the ground_, a voice told him, and he knew that it wasn't his own mind, just as he knew it was right. It always was.

Not for the first time in his life, however, he ignored it as the cluster standing around the grave broke up. The priest had said the last words, and the large group of women was heading back to the car with the younger of the males. The only two other men present were headed towards the tree line, sans umbrellas, to talk with the mourning man.

He stepped out of the shadows, meeting the one and a half pairs of eyes that greeted him. Well, greeted may have been an overstatement.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" the elder demanded, his thick English accent pitched to a dangerously low level. His was a cool rage that had developed over the years, through trials that tested his character, and shaped it.

"Came to pay last respects," was the only response. Keeping the anger at the unspoken accusation in check was not easy, but he'd had practice.

"Last respects?" This time it was the younger that spoke. Just as the other had been changed emotionally by his life, so had he, physically as well. The dark patch covering one eye was the result of one of those tests. "What makes you think you have the right?" Unlike his companion, however, the one-eyed man was not one to contain his rage. "After what you did…?"

Taking a deep breathe, the man recalled the events leading up to the burial.

"_It's okay," the blonde had told him. "I know what I'm doing."_

"_I still think we should tell your friends."  
_

"_No. We'll tell them when we get back."_

"_If that's how you want it played."  
_

"_It is."_

His gaze fell to the ground. How could he dare look at them? "I'm…sorry, for what happened. Buffy thought…" He was cut off by the older man moving to grab the lapels of his jacket and slam him against a tree. A simple move would have left the ex-librarian gasping on the ground for air. Instead, he did nothing, and let himself be thrown against the trunk. The hate in the other man's eyes was met with the sorrow in his.

"NEVER mention her name." The cool rage had exploded. The danger had already passed. The only thing to do was put out the flames.

"You're not going to kill me, Rupert. So do me a favor and put me down." He no longer had trouble keeping calm. As he had learned to do, he put a bit of comical element into it.

"What's going on here?" a new voice demanded. Feminine. Not turning his head, the man pinned like a fly by the British gentleman knew that the red headed witch had left the party of women to bring her best friend and her mentor back to the car. "Giles put him down." Nothing moved. "Now!"

Finally, Giles backed off, letting go of the man. "Thank you, Willow." Now his voice was almost a whisper. He didn't need to speak aloud for her to hear him, but for some reason words always had more impact when spoken.

Still, she didn't address him. "Xander, I think it's time you and Giles went back to the car." Somehow, when she said it, she didn't sound like a mother scolding her children, though it didn't sound like a suggestion either. Just out of earshot was another woman, with darker hair. It was doubtful that she would enforce the suggestion, but it looked like Xander wasn't going to take the chance. As soon as the two men were gone, Willow turned on him. "Look. I understand what happened to Buffy. She died fighting." Not exactly true, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "But get this straight. She died, with you there. Leave us alone." Normally, Willow Rosenberg was docile, even shy at times. But no man in the world scared him like she did.

As she turned to go, he pulled something from his jacket. "Willow." She stopped and turned to find him handing a video to her. "I promised her," he said, then turned and walked away. The writing on the tape read, "The Last Will and Testament of Buffy Anne Summers." Willow's head came up and the man that they had known as the Immortal had disappeared.


End file.
